


Beginner's Guide

by tanktrilby



Category: Gintama
Genre: Jealousy, Joui War, M/M, zura is dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanktrilby/pseuds/tanktrilby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katsura is terribly, terribly happy that his two best friends are in love with each other; the fact that he keeps killing aliens with gritted teeth and unnecessary fervor is unrelated. </p><p> </p><p>(written for Ginzura week day two: War)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginner's Guide

Katsura found out by accident. Sakamoto said, “The closer you are, the harder you fight, huh?” -meaning Takasugi and Gintoki- and something went _shling!_ in Katsura’s brain.

The idiots in question were walking in front, hissing and snarling, hands fisted in each other’s shirts. No one remembered what the fight was about anymore. It had dragged on for three days, bitter sniping at campsites punctuated by long silent marches, and past experience said they would implode viciously and messily sometime very soon.

But now that Katsura had pieced things together it was obvious what was really going on.

“Zura tell them to cut it out, they listen to you,” said Sakamoto.

Katsura looked at them. Takasugi was ablaze with anger, green eyes glittering, his clenched fist completing a graceful arc as he punched Gintoki square in the face. Gintoki smirked, bloody and reckless without stumbling or reeling back. He wiped his mouth, like he’d just been kissed.

“Very well,” Katsura said a little distractedly. “I’ll tell them to be more discreet.”

“That’s not what I-”

Later, when the Amanto launched the not-so-surprising surprise attack they’d been expecting for weeks, Gintoki and Takasugi moved to fight back-to-back without thought or discussion. Because they were in love, Katsura knew. They whirled in perfect unison so that Gintoki could drive his sword into the alien that was trying to stab Takasugi, and they both had identical grins on their faces, flushed and joyous.

They would probably *bleep* after this, Katsura thought.

He was a little miffed that he hadn’t been told earlier, and left to figure it out for himself. Perhaps they thought that they didn’t have to mention it, all three of them having known each other for so long- in which case their faith in him was touching. He hoped they knew he wouldn’t disapprove. He was happy for them. They were so alike, after all, and resolved their problems in the simplest of ways-

“In other words, like first-class idiots,” Shoyou-sensei had said.

Gintoki and Takasugi glared hotly, covered in bruises from their disagreement. “Am not!” they’d protested.

-and so they could make it work. Katsura kept watching them fight together -Gintoki’s streaking silver flashing in and out of sight, Takasugi a dark wave of destruction across the battlefield- and thought about how glad he was for them.

“Ahaha, Zura, that Amanto seaweed-thing’s already dead,” Sakamoto shouted. “No need to stab so hard!”

Katsura blinked. “Huh,” he said, and moved on.

*

Only, it wasn’t that easy.

When they made camp, Takasugi and Katsura took first watch and Gintoki stayed up anyway, poking a stick at the fire and shaking bugs off the tree Takasugi was leaning against onto their heads. Katsura kept thinking about how they were probably going to curl up together after this, warm tired limbs and slowed heartbeats. They probably wouldn’t *bleep*, or even *bleep*, tonight, he thought. Not when they were this tired. They would probably just kiss drowsy and slow, and one or both would yawn into it and they would fall asleep smiling with their faces bare inches apart.

Katsura sniffed righteously; Gintoki’s turn was in four hours, and if he didn’t keep watch properly he could just deal with any Amanto who snuck up in the middle of the night by himself. 

“Zuraaa, I’m cold and the blankets they give the rest of us aren’t as good as the ones you steal to protect your womanly soft skin,” Gintoki said. “I’m freezing my balls off, oi.”

Katsura busied himself with sharpening his sword. “And you call yourself a samurai? I’m busy, see. Go and ask Takasugi.”

There was a long pause. Gintoki was probably weighing his options. Surely he had to know that Katsura would never speak of what he might see, he’d protect his friends-

“Whatever,” Gintoki mumbled.

He wandered off in Takasugi’s direction, making sure to bump shoulders so hard that Takasugi went staggering back. And then they were on the floor, wrestling and snarling, rolling perilously close to the fire and not seeming to notice.

Katsura nearly sliced his hand open on the sharp edge of his sword. _Shameless,_ he thought, and looked away and bit the inside of his cheek.

*

“Oi, Zura,” said Gintoki. “You should use the Draw Four and change it to red.”

“You dare criticize my strategy?” Katsura hissed. “The Draw Four is my ultimate trump card, and you would have me play it here? You’re foolish, Gintoki.”

Gintoki gave him a flat stare in reply. “More to the point, why didn’t you tell me you were playing? I’ve been bored out of my mind, y’know, it’s not good for my blood sugar. Do you want Gin-san to suffer? Is that it?”

Katsura realized that Gintoki was feeling guilty about not hanging out with him as much anymore, and was trying to make amends in his own haphazard Gintoki way. It was touching, but unnecessary. He and Takasugi had precious little time to themselves as it was.

The soldier who got the turn before Katsura played a Draw Two and that occupied him a while. He tried to ignore Gintoki’s smugness when he came out of his turn without his Draw Four.

“It wasn’t because you told me to do it,” he said.

“Sure,” said Gintoki.

“Anyway, where’s Takasugi?” Katsura asked, and Gintoki’s mouth twisted into the usual ugly shape at the name. Katsura felt briefly wrongfooted, covering for it by saying, “You aren’t fighting again, are you?”

Gintoki rolled his eyes. “Nah, he stormed off into the woods earlier. He wanted to spar, but I told him to go wrestle a bear or something if he was so obsessed with getting stronger. He’s probably in a training arc as we speak. He’ll probably be able to Rasengan the enemy by the time he gets back.”

Katsura kept looking at him. Gintoki didn’t look particularly troubled or lonely, digging his ear in a manner very unlike the deserted heroines of shoujo manga. But then again, he and Takasugi had undoubtedly sparred earlier in the morning, and there was a mark at the base of Gintoki’s neck that could be a bug bite or just as easily a hickey.

“Fine then,” he said, flushing for no reason. Gintoki made a puzzled noise but Katsura had already looked away, determined. “Do whatever you like.”

Gintoki grunted. It was the middle of the game so he watched without playing, his head a heavy weight where he rested it on Katsura’s shoulder, curly hair soft on Katsura’s cheek.

*

“You aren’t hanging out with Takasugi and Kintoki anymore,” Sakamoto said one day. He speared a piece of meat from Katsura’s bowl, and they had a brief but vicious struggle for it before it flew from both their chopsticks, never to be seen again.

“Ahaha, could it be, our generals are mad at each other?” Sakamoto asked next, a little muffled since Katsura was sitting on him. “Zura, you can’t do that, you know. You can’t win wars all alone.”

“Silence,” Katsura said. “I’m just being thoughtful, as you should learn to be, Sakamoto. And it’s Katsura, not Zura.”

“Ahahaha, no, their fights are getting really ugly, Zura, you might want to stop being so thoughtful. Kintoki’s been in a nasty mood lately.”

“You should know better than to stick your nose in their private affairs, Sakamoto. Have you no shame?”

“A man should only feel ashamed twice in his life, and that’s when he forgot to replace the toilet paper even after he noticed he was running out, and when he comes out of the toilet only to realize that the marks are on his trousers as well.” Sakamoto squinted at him a little. “So we don’t really have anything to worry about here, Zura, don’t hold back! Ahahaha!”

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura,” said Katsura uncomfortably. A samurai didn’t fidget, so he sat very still, practicing the breathing techniques Sensei taught them. “I’m not holding anything back. But as friends, it is our duty to support them.”

Sakamoto looked like he wanted to say something, but then some of Takasugi’s men came over brandishing maps and Katsura gratefully excused himself.

*

“That damn idiot Tatsuma wants to scare the big tough businessmen in suits by showing off our muscle,” Gintoki said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be gone for three days.”

“Don’t take the reach or the power of the Daimyo lightly,” Katsura told him. He kept having to look away, because Gintoki was high off a victory, grinning sharp and bright, looking so good it hurt. “Don’t pick fights, Gintoki, and try not to let them see your face. It might throw them off.”

Gintoki lunged and made to pinch Katsura’s cheeks, and Katsura deftly stepped out of his reach. “Oi oi, do you want me to kill you? Here I was, about to tell you that another person needs to go with me to negotiate, and it turns out you actually want to die after all.”

Katsura blinked at him. “Sakamoto isn’t going?”

“Nah, some shit about never being allowed to show his face in Tosa again.”

“I see,” Katsura said. “Well, if you stop Takasugi from giving them that creepy serial killer smile all should be well.”

“Wait, what?” Gintoki actually stopped smiling, mouth pulling tight. “Takasugi?”

“He refused to come?”

“Well, no, but I thought-”

“Three days is a long time, but I promise we’ll hold down the fort until you return,” Katsura said. “Focus on what you must do, Gintoki.”

He hurried away before he had to see how Takasugi took the news. Probably with that quick half-smile before feigning affront, he thought, and then hated himself.

*

The next week Takasugi himself confronted him after Katsura blundered, livid around the set of his eyes, his mouth. “What the fuck was _that,”_ he hissed, dragging Katsura down by his hair.

Katsura, who wasn’t entirely sure himself, said, “A miscalculation.”

“A- for the love of-” Takasugi swore a couple of times more. Katsura watched him, one hand at his sliced-open chest, the wound deep and stinging under the bandages.

“Your little _miscalculation_ nearly got our supply routes blocked,” Takasugi pulled on his hair harder. “What about _a general knows how to pick his battles,_ huh? That didn’t look like you were picking your battles, it just-”

“Let my hair go, Takasugi,” Katsura said. “At this rate I really will have to wear a wig.”

Takasugi narrowed his eyes at him, searching. Katsura let him and leaned a little closer so his roots didn’t scream with pain anymore. It was somehow easier because it was Takasugi who was mad at him. At any rate, he could keep his eyes on Takasugi’s without needing to look away.

Finally, Takasugi huffed something close to a sigh and let the fury seep away from his face.

“Fine, whatever,” he said. He let go of Katsura. “Just talk to us the next time you get an idea in that rotted brain of yours, Zura.”

“It’s not Zura, it’s-”

“Yeah yeah I know,” Takasugi said impatiently. “The point is you can’t pull stupid shit like that. Why didn’t you talk it over with Gintoki? Even that idiot would have given you decent cover.”

“It was my mistake,” Katsura said. He stood straight and his wound sparked with pain, a reminder of his idiocy. “It won’t happen again.”

Takasugi looked bemused but Katsura wasn’t wasting any more time talking about this. Takasugi snorted without joy and started walking away, back to the campsite, and Katsura waited till he was gone to gingerly poke at his injury. It wouldn’t be closing any time soon. No matter; he deserved it.

*

For a while the status quo was firmly reestablished. Gintoki and Takasugi bickered and swapped insults and on the battleground looked out for each other like they weren’t two people, but one. They completed each other’s sentences even when they were arguing, which was romantic, Katsura thought.

“Everyone thinks of them as an entity,” Katsura said. “It’s nice, since they’re best friends and all.”

The soldier whose wounds he was tending blinked up at him in confusion. “Katsura-san?”

“Takasugi and Gintoki, I mean,” Katsura said. “Soon enough they’ll have a name-mash like all celebrity couples. Takatoki. It’s cute.”

“I don’t know about that,” the soldier offered, “but I always thought _you_ were their best friend, Katsura-san.”

“It hardly matters,” Katsura decided, “when they’re that perfect together. Don’t you think?”

“I guess.” He looked uncomfortable. “Um, Katsura-san, you’re spilling all the iodine.”

Victories piled at their feet. It was the first and glory days of the movement and they kept pressing forward, and the general consensus seemed to be that they wouldn’t lose a battle as long as they had their Four Heavenly Kings. Takasugi and Gintoki were talked about in loud brash voices and hushed whispers alike, the bright young heroes of the hour, golden and invincible.

Katsura, who had only ever scanned the horizon for trouble and had one foot raised in anticipation of retreat, grew twitchier and twitchier. Seeing the rare occasions that Takasugi and Gintoki laughed together took a great toll on him, like a cartoon anvil dropping on his shoulders. He started staying up nights mapping escape routes and marking out possible ambushes until he realized one day that he hadn’t slept in a week and had been stumbling around in a fog of bone-deep exhaustion.

Gintoki found him curled on the dirt staring sightlessly at the sky. He sighed. “You can’t waste time looking for Laputa in the middle of a war, oi.”

It was the first time in maybe weeks since they’d directly addressed each other. It felt tense and awkward like they were puzzle pieces that didn’t fit anymore, worn into unfamiliar shapes.

“Go complain to Takasugi, then,” Katsura snapped in response; automatic, unforgivable, and it was the closest he’d come to confronting them about it, to telling them his great secret: _I know the two of you are in love._

Gintoki didn’t say anything. When Katsura risked a glance at him, Gintoki was looking at him with his deep dark eyes, looking sad and about a million years old.

“I get it. You’re worried,” he said. “But y’know, good things do happen, even to people like us, Zura. Maybe this winning streak really will last forever.”

His hand on Katsura’s shoulder was warm, and the soft shape of his mouth made Katsura’s chest hurt.

“Yeah,” Katsura said, and forced himself to smile. His eyes stung sharply. Inside his head, he was screaming at Gintoki: _you understand nothing, nothing at all._

*

Everyone piped down about their victories after that, mostly thanks to rumors of a Jinx Demon biting the balls off any braggers that spread around the troops. An interlude of war followed, during which Katsura felt himself settling back into something more human, the electric sheen of desperation vanishing off the surface of his skin. To stop himself from feeling too grateful, he played a lot of Uno and idly wondered what Sensei would make of the three of them now. He’d find it hilarious, probably. Sensei had a weird sense of humor.

Around the fire, Sakamoto threw one arm around Gintoki’s shoulders, another around Takasugi’s. Katsura climbed to his feet without bothering for an excuse. He left.

*

The upswing didn’t last: three days later, Sakamoto slumped beside him, cradling a purpled cheek. "Ahaha," he said.

Katsura said, "Takatoki?" and Sakamoto nodded.

"Is it bad that I want to beat them both up till they stop acting like children? Because, yknow, I'm not getting in the middle of that again. Those punches really hurt. And Kintoki, you know, he has a mean right hook, and is generally mean.” Then he looked at Katsura like maybe it had anything to do with Katsura, which it profoundly didn’t.

It was just a low, Katsura wanted to tell Sakamoto. It was just how they loved: in great arcs, soaring one second, plummeting the other. Sakamoto would get it, if he’d known them as long as Katsura had.

Katsura looked down, at his hands, at the way they were clenched together very tight.

“They’ve been like that since they were children.” Katsura tried to make himself sound fond and tolerant, like Sensei, and ended up giving himself a headache. “Perfect understanding means disagreeing.”

“Not all the time, ahaha,” Sakamoto said. “When you love a pretty lady, it ought to make you happy, not miserable.”

Katsura blinked. “I’ll tell them to tone it down,” he said.

*

A few days later, Katsura was rubbing his temples over the splotchy maps when someone cleared their throat. He scowled a little harder. If it was Takasugi he’d say what he came here to say regardless of whether Katsura was listening or not. And this was important. If he squinted at it long enough the map would surely redraw itself into something more helpful.

The throat was cleared again. Katsura sighed and looked up.

“Why’s every tent you’re in always smell like flowers,” Gintoki said by way of greeting. “Do you have _moisturizer_ in here?”

Katsura folded his arms. Gintoki looked like he had walked through a pointy hurricane, all cut up and bruised, his eye a bulging purple. Gintoki saw him staring at his bandaged chest and made a face.

“The vending machine didn’t have the right kind of Nmaibo, so I asked around to see who got the last one. Why are men so obsessed with their shitty snacks, huh, is it one of those shitty coming-of-age things?”

“Takasugi,” Katsura began, and Gintoki’s face grew black.

“Zura, don’t-”

“We can hardly afford to have two of the greatest pillars of our campaign killing each other off,” Katsura said. “Fix your problems and get it over with. The two of you are,” he said, and thought about them in the dusk again, the identical half-curl of their mouths as they tramped back from another won battle, and had to resist the urge to kick his desk. “…you shouldn’t be doing this,” he finished lamely.

 Gintoki’s mouth was in an ugly line. “You might want to tell him to stop being an arrogant asshole first, Zura, else I don’t see how your excellent intentions are going to be put to work.”

“It has to end!” Katsura said, half-frantic. Gintoki’s eyes lidded and he shut his mouth. “I don’t know what’s wrong, you won’t tell me, so you have to work it out somehow, do whatever it takes to get into Takasugi’s bed again.”

Gintoki’s eyes grew very wide. Katsura watched him, exhausted.

“Zura, I- is that what you thought? Zura.”

He took a step forward. Katsura narrowed his eyes.

“You thought I- with _Takasugi-”_

Gintoki covered the distance to where Katsura’s papers were spread looked at him with a wide-open expression. Katsura kept his hands firmly inside his sleeves. “You don’t have to explain yourself,” he told Gintoki. “I know you’re in love with Takasugi. I understand.”

“ _No you don’t, you idiot,”_ Gintoki said, and reached out, jerkily, to twine two blunt swordsman’s fingers in a lock of Katsura’s hair. “No one but you could get it so wrong, how are you so stupid? It’s a miracle, isn’t it? You’re a miraculous idiot, aren’t you?”

His voice was very low and rough. An idea stirred awake in a corner of Katsura’s mind, under the blanket of his frustration, and as it gained shape he found it hard to think of anything else, anything other than the possibility-

Gintoki touched both his cheeks, intimate scrape of his sword calluses against Katsura’s hot skin. “Not Takasugi,” he said, and he sounded raw, like he was in so much pain he could barely stand it. “Not Takasugi. You.”

“Me,” Katsura repeated dumbly.

The rough pads of Gintoki’s fingers fell away. “Yeah,” he said, eyes downcast.

Katsura pulled him forward by fisting a hand in his clothes, murmuring, again, “Me,” in a sort of bemused disbelief, before kissing him, full on the mouth. Gintoki held him tightly, and when he started kissing back his mouth was gentle, careful enough to be clumsy.

“Oh,” he said, and immediately began to feather his hands across Katsura’s face, making Katsura make a high wanting sound, leaning in.  “You-okay,” he said, and ran his fingers in Katsura’s hair.

“Eloquent,” Katsura said, and Gintoki colored.

“Shut up, so your wig’s stupid rays are spreading, oi, otherwise, you know, there’s no way I’d waste all these weeks being a moron,” Gintoki said.

“Hm,” said Katsura. He smirked. His lips stung.

Eyes dark, Gintoki groaned. “Come here, you smug bastard,” he said, and kissed Katsura again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
